


More than Blood

by havisham



Category: Arthurian Mythology
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Half-Sibling Incest, Infanticide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-21
Updated: 2013-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-05 09:00:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1092059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havisham/pseuds/havisham
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The one where Mordred is, in fact, drowned soon after birth.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	More than Blood

**Author's Note:**

  * For [toujours_nigel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/toujours_nigel/gifts).



Arthur had not yet passed his twentieth year when he fathered a son by his half-sister, Morgause. He had been innocent of their connection, at least as first. Morgause was beautiful and Arthur had convinced himself that he was in love with her. “Little king,” she said, kissing him and not hiding the cynical gleam in her eye, “I am much needed in the north. But worry not -- I shall send my son to you in the spring.” 

In spring, two years after that, a gangly, red-headed boy arrived at Camelot. He was Gawain, son of Lot and Morgause and -- as the truth will out, Arthur’s eldest nephew. 

Young Gawain was good-hearted and true -- but with a temper that flared up fiercely and quickly extinguished. He got into a quarrel with the other pages almost as soon as he arrived in the page’s hall, he was sent to see Arthur, miserable and sullen. 

He reminded Arthur of Kay, and like Kay, he melted at the first sign of affection and sympathy. Arthur listen to his story, agreed that the pages were unfair, and began to gently interrogate Gawain about his family. 

“My mother has no use for me,” Gawain confessed, ruffling his wild hair. “I haven’t any graces and my temper embarasses her. I wouldn’t make a good king.” 

“Those things can change, if you work on them,” Arthur said, distracted. “Tell me more about your brothers.” And he listened until Gawain came to Mordred, newly born. A son of Lot, though Lot had laid dead on a foreign battlefield for eight months before Mordred saw light. 

It was then Arthur knew that he could no more escape fate than he could his family. He sent Gawain far away to be trained by some hermit -- ‘twas the best thing for him, no matter how betrayed the boy looked, as he was told where he would go. 

Arthur turned away, and demanded that infant Mordred be brought before him. He was not interested in the methods used and he did not have to wait very long. Here was Merlin, with a squirming bundle in his arms. It was better, the wizard advised, that Arthur not see him. But Arthur was now quite used to ignoring Merlin’s advice. 

“Give it here,” he said, and reluctantly, Merlin complied. Arthur was surprised at the lightness of his burden and how -- so quickly, it seemed to him -- this squirming, yowling thing in his arms resolved into a person, a small one with a grave little face and cloudy blue eyes that would surely one day be grey --like Arthur’s eyes were, like Morgause’s. 

“It would be a great sin to do this thing,” Arthur said aloud, cradling his son. “I would be the same as Herod and Rameses if I did it.” 

“To let him live would mean the end of Camelot,” Merlin said heavily. Arthur looked at his mentor for long time, wondering how much of the future he saw and how much he could tell of it. 

“Aye,” Arthur agreed at last. “But if it must be done, let me be the one to do it.” 

* 

The waters around Tintagel were almost warm in high summer. Arthur had constructed a light, wooden boat that was meant to hold Mordred as far as as the current could take him before the sea swallowed them up. Mordred, by now, was healthy infant with strong legs and arms. He looked around, his eyes bright with intelligence. True, he was prone to crying fits and shows of temper, but he always calmed when Arthur held him. 

He was so now when Arthur took him from Kay, who was weeping stormily. “It is wrong,” Kay said, his chin ruddy from where Mordred had tried to bite him. “He is only a little mite.” 

“I know,” Arthur said and settled Mordred down on the cradle boat. Mordred lifted his arms to picked up again, and Arthur was tempted again to call off this madness. But instead, he called for the prayers to be said, and he hoped sincerely that God would find it in his heart to forgive him for this new sin. After that was done and before he could change his mind again, Arthur shoved the boat into the water. 

It bobbed lazily in the water for a time before the current drew it away and away. Soon, though Arthur climbed the highest tower in Tintagel, he could neither pick out the white of Mordred’s clothes, nor the light brown of the boat. They were both lost in the bright blue waters of the summer sea. 

Later, some fishermen found the wreckage of the boat smashed against the rocks, and burned it for firewood. Word reached the king, eventually. As the years wore on, Arthur dreamed of Mordred drowning, first as a baby, then a child, then a man. Though again and again he reached for him, he could never grab Mordred’s outstretched hand. Instead, Arthur woke next to Guinevere’s soft, sleeping form, his heart hammering in his throat.

Too late.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my beta, Ivy!


End file.
